The Writing Inertia

The wind howled through the cracks in Victor’s old cabin, rattling the broken shutters and groaning against the rotting wood. Halloween was the night for evil things to rise, and he knew that all too well. He’d seen his share of monstrous things; in fact, he was one of them. It had been nearly twenty years since he’d made his pact with the devil. Victor could still remember that night vividly. He’d stood under the skeletal branches of a dying oak, his heart a tangled web of hatred and rage. There, beneath the Halloween moon, he had offered his soul to the Devil himself, a sacrifice to the ancient fires in exchange for revenge on those who had wronged him. They had taken everything from him, mocked him, cast him aside like trash. Victor had wanted them to suffer, to feel the pain he’d held for so long, gnawing at him from the inside. And the Devil had appeared. It wasn’t like the stories. No sulfur, no flash of fire. The Devil came as a figure in a dark cloak, his face hidden, his voice...

The text message arrived on Amara’s phone just as she was about to slide into bed, the screen casting a faint glow in the darkened room. Her hand paused, hovering over the screen as she read the message. “Whatever you do, DON’T look at the moon tonight.” The sender was unknown. She frowned, swiping to dismiss it. A spam message, probably. But something about it unsettled her. Just as she was setting her phone down, another notification popped up. This time, it was from a group chat with her friends. “OMG, guys, the moon is SO beautiful tonight!” one message read, decorated with heart emojis. Another one chimed in. “You have to go look at it! It’s huge and glowing like crazy. Never seen anything like it!!” A chill ran down her spine. She had no idea why the first message got to her, but now she felt a strange tightening in her chest. Her thumb hovered over the chat before she switched over to her social media feed. Post after post from friends, family, and random people she barely reme...

The dim hospital corridor was silent as I shuffled along its length, clutching a piece of paper that would alter my life—or perhaps seal my fate. Room 201, the paper read, in neat, almost mechanical script. My heart pounded, not with hope but with the strangling sense that something was very wrong. The silence here felt unnatural. How could a place teeming with patients fighting for their lives be so dead quiet? I glanced at my phone. Three missed calls from my brother, his messages urging me to reconsider. But for me, this was it. I’d exhausted every treatment, spent all my savings, and even with months left to live, each day felt like a step closer to oblivion. But this doctor… Dr. Han, the "miracle surgeon," had allegedly cured people no one else could. He was infamous worldwide for his success with a groundbreaking “neurological procedure.” Some were skeptical, yet the patients—all of them cancer-free—praised him. And here I was, clinging to the hope that I, too, might on...

Caroline awoke gasping, the echoes of her nightmare still gnawing at her. Every night, the same vision haunted her sleep—a hollow-eyed figure with dark, bottomless eyes beckoning her into a dim, creaking house. She felt drawn in by a force she couldn’t fight, despite every fiber of her being screaming to turn back. It had been this way for as long as she could remember. The nightmare had plagued her since childhood, a nightly companion that kept her awake, trembling beneath her sheets. She'd tried everything to rid herself of it—medications, therapy, meditation—but the dream persisted, growing darker, more sinister with each passing year. Tonight, she decided she’d had enough. She needed answers. Caroline stumbled out of bed and reached for her laptop, her fingers trembling as she typed “dream interpretation” into the search bar. She scrolled through endless articles, dream dictionaries, and obscure interpretations, but none of them came close to capturing the fear that gripped her...

The heat was unbearable, licking at every surface, twisting metal and cracking wood. The flames had spread faster than anyone could have imagined, racing up the old apartment building’s brittle walls. Screams had pierced the night as people stumbled into the streets, faces smeared with ash and eyes wide with fear. But one person—Cameron—hadn’t made it out. Cameron was trapped on the top floor. The smoke billowed thick and heavy, filling his lungs, pressing into his eyes, making every breath a gasp of agony. He’d sprinted down the hallway to the stairs, only to be met with a wall of flames. There was no way down. The air itself felt alive, roiling with anger, the fire crackling and snapping like some ravenous beast. As Cameron stumbled back from the heat, he felt his skin prickle, an unnatural chill slicing through the flames. He spun, searching for an escape, his heart hammering as he caught sight of something out of place in the smoke. At first, he thought it was a trick of his mind, ...

I sat alone in the old, creaky wooden house nestled deep in the Western Ghats, along the quiet coastline of the Arabian Sea. It was late on the night of Diwali, and outside, fireworks crackled faintly in the distance, flickering against the black velvet sky. Yet here, atop the secluded hills, all was still. The air was thick with the scent of damp wood, mingling with the faint trace of gunpowder from the stray firecrackers that had drifted this far. The faint glow of my lantern cast shadows across the room, shapes that danced eerily on the walls, fueled by the steady rustle of leaves outside. I’d rented this old house for a quiet getaway, an escape from the city's cacophony. It was obscure, nestled amidst tall trees and silent paths, with no neighbors in sight. The house itself was worn but charming, with an attic, an ancient hearth, and wide, creaking floorboards that seemed to groan under the weight of years. Since Dussehra, I’d been here alone, enjoying the solitude, the quiet, ...

 Hi everyone! We are introducing flash fiction from today. Various genres. And since it is Halloween, Kali Puja, and Diwali today, we thought of beginning with flash fiction relevant to exactly such a theme. So here goes. Happy reading!